Cleaning Up
by Foxy-Badger
Summary: Sebastian reached the rooftop of St. Bart's to reclaim Jim's body when he suddenly realises he's not dealing with a corpse.


**Pairing:** Moriarty/Moran  
**Genre:** slash, romance, friendship, injuries  
**Summary:** Sebastian reached the rooftop of St. Bart's to reclaim Jim's body when he suddenly realises he's not dealing with a corpse.  
**Disclaimer:** Story is mine. James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran belong to Sir Conan Doyle. BBC Sherlock to the BBC. No profit made. Just for fun.

_One step at a time_, he told himself. _One foot in front of the other. Keep moving. Don't turn back. This has to be done. He – he has to be removed._

And who was left to do so? Sebastian had not agreed on this when Jim had told him he had to get rid of his body. _Why can't someone else do this?_ Sebastian never minded about disposing of bodies but not his; not Jim's. A body in the Thames. It was usual business. Not this time. Jim hadn't left him any instructions. What the hell was he going to do with the body?

_What the hell am I going to do without him?_

He looked up and spotted another security camera hanging in the corner of the stairwell. He had passed a few already; every floor he reached had one, pointing right at his face. But he wouldn't be seen. Jim had hacked into the hospital's security last night and made sure it would play on a loop for the next few hours. He had made sure he too hadn't been seen when he went up. Only Sherlock's process up to the roof had been registered.

He was invisible.

Up he went, using the fire-escape to the roof. The same flight Jim had walked earlier that day, the same on which Sherlock had followed him. Both men had never returned alive. And inside, Sebastian felt that he was one of them. And although his death didn't involve actual physical death, he feared what the sight of Jim's body would do to his mind.

_I died too today,_ he mused as he placed his hand on the banister, his heartbeat racing inside his chest for two reasons: because of the physical effort he had to put into walking up this many flights of stairs, and the emotional exhaustion he felt. Only a few more steps and he would reach the door to the roof.

He didn't even recall placing his hand on the bars of the fire-escape door to push it open. He suddenly found himself on the roof, a cool June wind blowing through his hair. He didn't even need to look around for the body. It lay in the middle of the roof, a large puddle of blood coming from the hole in his head.

_Oh God, Jim,_ he sighed and blinked, his chest feeling too shallow for his lungs. _Why couldn't you just think of another plan_?

But there was one thought that kept returning to his mind. Something he had asked Jim so often that he dreamt the words at night.

_What about me?_

But Jim had never given him an answer to that question.

He wiped the tears off his cheeks and crouched down by the body. He paused before he reached out for the gun in Jim's hand. He picked it up, put the safety back on and stuffed it in his own inside pocket.

His eyes caught Jim's, which were wide open and staring at the sky above them, that familiar manic smile spread on his face.

_At least he died with a smile, _Sebastian snorted at himself without amusement. Was he surprised? No. Not at all. If there was a way Jim was going to die, he would make sure it would be with a smile on his face.

He placed his fingers on his employer's eyelids and pushed them down and brushed his fingers past his lips, affectionately cupping his cheek, dragging his thumb over his cheekbone. The last time he had touched Jim like this, he had asked him not to do this. And yet, here he was. Dead. Just like he had said would happen.

Something moved against his fingertips and he lifted up his palm, keeping his fingers in place as he felt around.

And then he felt it.

'Jesus, Jim,' He gasped as he moved closer, hovering over the other man as he felt it again. There it was—although it was very weak. But it was there- it was definitely there.

He felt the inside of his wrist. He could feel it there too.

'Shit, Jim!' he exclaimed as he took his jacket ff, pulling his t-shirt over his head and folded it up clumsily. He lifted up the man's head and pressed it against the gap in the back of his head, and at the same time fumbling with the man's Westwood tie and pulling it lose, tying it around his head to make sure the shirt would keep in place. 'You _fucking_ idiot! Why didn't you use a larger caliber?!'

But suddenly he realised that Jim would know about which caliber to use to shoot his own brains out. And he understood it all.

'Fucking, Christ, Jim!' he cried as he retrieved his phone from his pocket and speed dialed the number of his driver that was waiting for him two blocks away.

'Get the car to the hospital. Quickly! Park it at the back – I'll be there in a minute.'

'You alright, sir?' the man asked. 'Did everything go according to plan?'

'Yes,' he lied and hung up, stuffing his phone back in his pocket and grabbed Jim by his arm and hooked it around his own head, pulling him off the floor and started to drag him towards the fire-escape door. It was tiresome, dragging the man like this, so as he reached the door he hooked his arm underneath Jim's knees and lifted him up, giving his head a nudge with his shoulder to make sure it wouldn't hang back. He had lost enough blood and already the shirt he had tied around his head started to stain red.

He swore for not being able to take the elevator as he ran down the stairs, careful not to trip or drop the man in his arms. It took him forever to reach the ground floor, and he threw his back against the fire-escape door.

Ian, the driver, stood waiting by the car, and gasped with horror as Sebastian came towards him carrying Jim's bleeding body.

'Don't ask,' Sebastian warned him and gave him a look that could only mean death to any other ordinary man. 'Open the door, quickly!' he demanded and the driver stumbled to the door and opened the door for Sebastian. He awkwardly maneuvered Jim's body into the car for as far as he could. Ian had walked around the car and opened the other door, dragging their employer further onto the seat.

As soon as Jim was in, Sebastian threw the door shut and strut around the car as well to assist Ian into pushing Jim into an upright position. He got into the car as well, pressing his shoulder against Jim's back.

'Drive!' he barked at Ian.

'But sir, where to?' Ian asked nervously, taking his cap up and rubbing the cold sweat of his brow. 'We're at a hospital – he should stay here!'

'Another hospital!' Sebastian snapped at the driver, a rush of panic flooding over him as the man seemed to stall about. 'Drive!'

Ian fumbled with his hat and got into the driver's seat. He started the engine and drove off.

'Ignore the traffic lights,' Sebastian ordered him as he wrapped his arm around Jim's torso so he could hold onto his head.

'But sir, the poli—'

'I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE FUCKING POLICE – DRIVE!'

He looked down at the man in his arms, adjusting the tie around his head and making sure it stayed in place.

'Hang on, Jim,' he muttered affectionately, stroking his face. 'Hang on, please.'

And Jim's eyelids twitched and he weakly opened his eyes, looking up at Sebastian, that same smile still on his face. He blinked once or twice and the corner of his mouth curled even more as he mouthed the words: 'Hey tiger,' before he closed them again.


End file.
